Page 23 of Milo

"I don't want to hurt you, Mr. Di Vaio," I say in a taunting tone. "I've learned a few tricks."

His chest rumbles like the beating hooves of wild animals, his baritone laugh reverberating through my body.

"Trust me, Kiara—” He snakes his hand around the back of my neck, tugging it backward, and his black eyes burrow into mine. "I am a very difficult man to hurt."

Based on the various scars scattered across his chest and slicing through his tattooed arms – he's lying. He's made out of flesh and blood, just like me. But I won't argue. I'll let him have this one.

"Have it your way.” I detangle myself from his iron grip, roll my neck, and stretch out my arms. "Ready?"

He smirks, widening his stance. "Come and get it, Kiara."

I get into position, praying that I don't make an idiot out of myself. I'm sure he'll be able to block all my punches but the idea of getting to touch him is causing a flurry of excitement to course through my veins.

I cast him a sly smile. “As you wish.”

Pointing my thumb to the floor, like Gio taught me in order to not break a finger, I swing my left fist forward to jab Milo's chest. He catches my hand in his palm.

Fuck.

I repeat the action, Milo grinning each time he blocks my throws. He's barely even trying. This is so embarrassing.

"Good form.” He drops my hand, my arms already getting tired. "But try harder. Hit me."

"Yes, sir," I say through my teeth, annoyed that he can sense which direction I'll be swinging from.

His eyes light up from the moniker. Hmm. He liked that. How telling. Having caught him off guard, I take the opportunity to test out a different approach. My right foot turns inward, my hip following through as I cut my right fist across the air, slamming his shoulder. This time he staggers backward. I smile, pleased with myself.

"Distracted?" I cock my head to the side, clicking my tongue. "Come on now, sir. Get your head in the game."

His jaw clenches, evidently furious that I landed a shot but there's a very small trace of amusement tugging on his lips. At least I hope it's amusement.

"Clever.” He repositions himself in front of me. “Again.”

And so, I do. Over and over and over again until I'm panting and frustrated. It's like he can anticipate my every move.

I grunt, shifting my weight from my left heel to my right. Forming a ninety-degree angle with my elbow, I attempt to pop Milo with a right hook. He side-steps my attack and I stumble forward. My heart races with exhaustion, my fists starting to hurt from the repetitive motion, but his goddamn smug face is pissing me off.

Enough!

With one final swing, I turn my right hip and shoulder, and punch upward, knocking my fist against Milo's chin in an uppercut. Hah!

When I land the punch, a fire ignites in Milo's eyes as he drags his thumb across his lips, a smear of blood on the pad.

Shit.

"My turn," he taunts, latching onto my forearm. He spins me around, his dick pressed up against my ass.

Oh, God.

"What do you do now, Kiara?" He squeezes my body against his, both of my wrists trapped between his one hand. His hot breath blows against my ear as I squirm, inadvertently creating friction against his most vulnerable body part. A groan escapes the back of his throat, but he doesn't acknowledge it, instead he asks, "How do you escape?"

Trying to free myself, I writhe against Milo's body, his cock hardening against me, growing, revealing his cards. Yes. This is power. I have the power. Well—I inwardly chuckle, based on the sheer size pressing up against my ass and my sudden urge to grab it, I guess he has a little power too.

But unfortunately for Mr. Dark and Dangerous, I have phenomenal self-control.

With all the strength I can muster, I spin my body around, trying out a release technique Mateo taught me. Clearly, I wasn't paying enough attention because when I twist in his arms, I fumble, my feet crossing with Milo's, knocking me off balance, and I plummet backward on the rubber floors, taking him down with me.

"Get off.” I peer up at Milo who's straddling me, the fabric separating our bodies not thick enough, or too thick; depends on which side of my brain is talking. The side that hasn't fucked in six months says it's the latter.

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